Sometimes I lie
I’m really sad today.
That isn’t the lie.
I like to think of myself as a leader, but I’m really just a follower.
That isn’t why I’m sad.
I’ve been sitting here for about an hour trying to decide what to write about today. I cry a little. Think I’m okay. Then cry a little more.
I say that I’m just a follower because it isn’t brave or new or life-altering to share that I am sad. Of course, I started to write about something else, anything else and pretend that I’m not. Then, I remembered the recent hoopla over Naomi Osaka’s revelations about her own mental health and the ways in which anxiety kept her from doing part of the job — talking to the press. And, I thought about Bo Burnham as he looked into the camera that was his only co-star in Inside saying, “I am not well.” And, I remembered that I very recently wrote about trying to discern the difference between radical vulnerability and narcissistic over-sharing.
That was the moment I knew I had to be honest. If I slip into over-sharing, I hope you will forgive me. My goal here is to fight this urge in me to hide this, an urge that manifests itself in physical symptoms like feeling the heat of my blood in my arms and feet. It feels like a tiny bit of nausea or just the beginning of reflux. The bottoms of my feet are growing hotter and hotter as I’m typing this. My fingers are shaking. This is my body’s way of warning me to be careful about putting myself in danger.
Vulnerability kills.
I am sad about one very specific thing and I am sad about every single fucking thing in the universe all at the same time. Sorry if my using “fucking” is off-putting. I’ve grown to like the word a lot. In my younger days, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I was a good southern girl raised right. The older I get, the more I use it. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not saying it is a good thing. But, there is something empowering about it. I really use it when I’m sad and angry.
I am sad and angry today. Whether or not I end up sharing the specifics is still unclear to me. I’m guessing not since my left foot feels like it is on fire right now and there is pain shooting up through my left thigh.
There are details I could point to, but for the most part it is what some would call “generalized anxiety disorder.” By some, I mean Psychiatric Nurses who diagnose me. That is one of my diagnosis. The other is “severe recurrent major depression without psychotic features.” I am incredibly grateful for the “without psychotic features”!
A lot of my sadness, anxiety, and anger — if I’m being very honest, is centered on the oldest of my two kids right now. And, I’m certain that I will be writing more about that as the year goes on. Some of it is warranted — I mean, just pick your shit up please! Some of it is insanity brought on by being a Mama for 18 years to someone who now wants to live his own life having little to do with me while still living in my house. Oh, and it doesn’t help that I’m going through perimenopause at the exact same fucking time!
I am having this recurring image of myself falling into a pit, kind of like Alice in Wonderland but without all the cool things to look at. And, I’m desperately trying to keep from falling, kind of like a cartoon. My hands are grasping at the sides, fingernails scraping the mud. My legs are stretched as far as their short, stubby selves can go, my ankles are hurting as they try desperately to get a grip to keep me from descending any further into the pit.
Don’t be too frightened by the imagery. I know exactly where it came from. I’m studying the Psalms right now. In particular, I’m studying what the premiere Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, says is the way that the Psalms so closely resemble the human experience of either being in the pit or being thankful for being out of it.
The sermon that I was supposed to preach yesterday but didn’t because “I have a migraine” is the first in a series exploring his thoughts on the Psalms of Orientation, Disorientation, and Reorientation. My sermon shares the time in my life when I felt absolutely and completely settled. All was well with my world. Everything made sense. That is orientation. And, many Psalms celebrate that part of the human experience. Many more, though, acknowledge what came next. I lost a career that I loved and felt God had ordained. Like this transition with my son, I’m certain that I will write more about that specific incident at some point. Today doesn’t feel like the day. What happened after I lost my job, though, was the pit. It was deep. It was dark. It was so deep and so dark that I wasn’t able to have any perspective to see how deep and dark it was.
When I found myself “calling in” to work yesterday because of another migraine, I felt myself slipping. I’ve lost my balance at the rim of the pit and I’m terrified that I’m going to fall in again.
I just felt a wave of heat pass over my arms.
I don’t REALLY lie. It isn’t that I don’t have migraines. It is just that it is so much easier to say, “I have a migraine” than to say “I’m sorry I can’t get out of the bed because my anxiety and depression are in control today.” Both of those things are true. The migraine, I think, is the manifestation of the other.
Heat wave throughout the body again starting at my toes and traveling through to my fingertips.
My mind starts imagining church members reading this and deciding that they love me, but that they need a better leader. And we’ve already established that I like to think I lead when I really just follow.
I am so sad today. There are some reasons I can point to, but mostly it is just a fear of falling back into the pit where I literally stayed in bed all day every day and thought it was absolutely normal to do so. I’m so scared I’m going to fall back into sleeping 20 hours out of 24 and not being present for anyone.
The heat is resting in my calves right now. They feel like they are burning from sun, but there is no sun shining on me.
Have I been radically vulnerable here? Or am I just being narcissistic? I honestly do not know. I do know that I still have not been completely honest about my health, my feelings, my fears, my anger, or my hopes and dreams. Maybe I will be tomorrow. Right now my head hurts.
